


Winner Takes All

by orphan_account



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe, Blood, Canonical Character Death, Car Sex, M/M, Mafia AU, heavily implied smut at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 14:31:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23047240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "For a couple months it’s going to be an uphill battle, every one of the now leaderless gangs heading into a tailspin with the Rat King’s name at the top of their lists, his head holding their highest bounty. It’s going to be a full scale war. Crew against crew, brother against brother, but the Rats are strong enough to come out on top. He’s more than sure of it."I couldn't help myself. Suhdude's Mob Boss AU sucked me in and wouldn't let go. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Relationships: Cardinal Copia/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	Winner Takes All

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Satan In Suburbia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15423621) by [suhdude](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suhdude/pseuds/suhdude). 

The scent of fresh blood and gunsmoke floods Dmitri’s senses. His left leg swings nonchalantly against the piano’s edge as he surveys the room. The world is a flurry of motion and noise as the remaining survivors suffer through their last moments, some brave souls still struggling for a futile escape. Dmitri glances over to the pianist’s body, slumped over her instrument from the single point blank bullet wound that set the whole thing off. He kisses the barrel of his pistol before slipping it back into its holster at his side.

His eyes wander back to the front of the stage to where the victor stands. The man of the hour gazes out at the carnage proudly, savouring it all with an almost animalistic gleam in his eye. The floor of the wrecked club is littered with bodies; Ghouls, Pets, and most importantly the Competition.

The crazed grin on the man’s face made something twist in Dmitri’s stomach. A tinge of fear, sure. This was now the most dangerous man in the city, directing their ghouls to finish off the little left undestroyed in his wake. Mostly, though, that feeling was something more akin to adoration. Pride that all had so far gone according to plan. Relief that neither of them had gotten hurt. If he’s honest, a little bit of lust for the bloodsoaked crime boss before him.

Dmitri bites his lip as he gives his leader a once over. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little peeved that the crisp white suit he’d gifted the man was ruined, but in all fairness Don Copia looks really really fucking good in red.

“Topolino,” he coos as he slips off his perch on the piano gracefully. He bends to pick up the ruined white fedora laying on the stage and stalks over to return it to it's original spot atop his superior's head. The bullet hole through the rim was surprisingly reassuring. They'd come that close to total disaster but Copia being the lucky little fucker he is somehow managed to avoid the bad end of this story as always, “I believe it’s time we head home and let the cleaners do their job, don’t you think? This party seems pretty-“

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare ruin this for me with a damn pun.” Copia hisses back at him, side eyeing the offending subordinate with malice. The sole Rats casualty is immediately pulled back off before being tossed to Swiss, who makes a show of catching it in his teeth like a dog to impress the Ghoulettes. 

The underboss simply snickers at their Ghoul's trick and takes the Rat King's hand, lifting it to his lips to kiss his plague doctor ring. Copia hums, pleased at the respect shown to him, and allows the man to lead him out the back door and into the black Rolls Royce Phantom at the end of the alleyway. The blood on their clothes is without a doubt going to ruin the interior, but that’s fine. They’re not the ones who’ll be cleaning it anyway.

Dmitri’s got him up on his lap before the partition’s even halfway rolled up, squishing the beaming Don’s cheeks in his hands and placing sloppy kisses all over his face, “You are so…Lucifer’s tits, I’m so fucking proud of you!”

Copia snorts and wraps his arms around Dmitri’s neck, “Me? I just did the planning! You’re the one who brought it all together!” He plants a deep, happy kiss on the lips of his partner in crime. They survived this. The final two. Triumphant in the first phase of the most important game of their lives. “Ucellino, non so cosa farei senza di te!”

For a couple months it’s going to be an uphill battle, every one of the now leaderless gangs heading into a tailspin with the Rat King’s name at the top of their lists, his head holding their highest bounty. It’s going to be a full scale war. Crew against crew, brother against brother, but the Rats are strong enough to come out on top. He’s more than sure of it.

It helps that the Godfather’s ex-wife and Consigliere is aiding in this endeavor fueled on pure spite for Papa Emeritus and his Ghosts. Lucifer bless her, he would be pissed too if the son his husband conceived in an affair was leading THE most powerful gang Linkoping. Luckily Godfather Nihil did not seem to give a fuck one way or the other on the matter as usual when it comes to his sons’ deaths.

“May god have mercy on his soul...” he mumbles during a pause for breath. A sentiment meant only for the youngest Emeritus, his old flame, the only one amongst the crowd of dead men in that bar that had earned a lick of respect from either of them. The only casualty that he feels a pang of sorrow for.

Of course, that pang of sorrow is quickly overwhelmed by intense lust when Copia hums in agreement and grinds down against him. A primal, dangerous growl rumbles up from Dmitri’s throat. His bloodstained right hand tangles into those soft brown waves, the underboss taking the lead and tugging his superior down into another rough kiss. Lucifer’s breath, Copia loves this. Loves how simple touches can take Dmitri out of that submissive facade. Unleash that dominant side, the one who’s mission is to make Copia moan loud enough to get their drivers to quit from second hand embarrassment. The side that lowkey makes him glad that notorious whore Emeritus kept lube and condoms in the map pockets of both doors.

Sharp teeth nip at his plush bottom lip, drawing him out of his thoughts and earning a gasp. At that, Dmitri’s tongue takes the opportunity to roam. Copia’s hands wander down his partner in crime's chest, carefully undoing dress shirt buttons with practiced expertise as he goes, until his fingers land on the fly of his slacks. He pulls away, buzzing with delight as Dmitri chases after his lips greedily. A shiver rolls down Copia’s spine when their mismatched eyes meet in a heated gaze. His lips curl into a wicked smirk, replying to the earlier statement with a dark chuckle, “...because we sure as hell didn’t.”

With a pop of a button, an exasperated groan, and the thud of a laughing mob boss being shoved down on the bloodstained backseats of a stolen Rolls Royce, their little afterparty really begins.


End file.
